


Tethered

by Kitsu



Series: Bonded [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, M/M, Nails, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Porn with some plot, Post-Star Trek Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsu/pseuds/Kitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Yorktown, Bones is feeling a bit down, and distraction comes from an odd source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tethered

**Author's Note:**

> Though a fan of the franchise for 20+ years, this is the first time I've written anything for the fandom. I must add, I'm laid up in bed, on week two, bored out of my mind. This ... might get weird, influenced by fever and strong meds. Might also be fun, I seem to write best when somewhat out of my mind.
> 
> I've taken some liberties with Spock's telepathy, giving him more of an empath-feel at times, and possibly some powers of projection. Well, well - all in good humour. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun trying to find som expressions for Bones to use - finding that apparently Southern dialects share some colloquialisms with my native language. And really, he is Bones to me, calling him Leonard or McCoy just doesn't sit right, for some reason.
> 
> Also; normal-cock Spock! Just so you know...
> 
> I swear, I've tried proofreading this myself, but if you find some Socks or Spooks lying around where they shouldn't be, do tell...
> 
> xXx

It wasn’t always the concept of space in itself he was afraid of. Rather, it was space’ vastness, its darkness, its endless opportunities that scared him senseless - the lack of control over his own destiny it represented. A potent mix of agoraphobia, astrophobia, aviophobia, with a pinch of atychiphobia thrown in. He often felt much like a very small boat with neither oars nor sail bobbing along on an immensely large ocean, dragged here and there by currents and tides, destination out of his control. He’d felt like that since the day he’d entered Starfleet, maybe even longer. His life, his destiny, lay firmly in the hands of others, in the hands admirals whose faces he’d never even seen, in the hands of captains and commanders.

Some hands he trusted more than others.

Still, he felt adrift among the stars. Treading water to keep afloat, not to drown in the bottom of a bottle. It might have helped if he didn’t feel so goddamned alone. Sure, since that terrifying first day at Riverside Shipyard, he’d had friends, drinking buddies, acquaintances first amongst the cadets and then the crew of the _Enterprise._ However, only Jim truly knew him, and even he...wasn’t enough. Couldn’t fill the deep, dark hole in his soul, could lift the oppressing weight of space around him, couldn’t give him the room to breath.

He was drowning ever so slowly, suffocating under the weight of space. Only thing he could do was ignore it and drown himself in work instead, keeping a keen eye on the maelstrom of people churning around him...  

***

The first time he’d seen Spock was at Kirk’s academic hearing after cheating during the _Kobayashi Maru_ test. He hadn’t known who he was then, but he’d liked him - liked the way he’d countered Kirk verbally at every turn, answers quick-fire and _logical._ Sure, he’d argued with the so-called ' _pointy-eared hobgoblin'_  every so often, however they usually settled on some common ground in the end - they made each other better. That was how the Enterprise-crew worked - they argued, fought, sometimes even yelled, and made each other better. Well, except for the not-so-few instances in the beginning where Jim had tried to settle arguments by hitting someone. Not that Spock ever yelled, but he did the Vulcan version of it as often as Bones himself said “Dammit, _something!_ ”. That damned lifted eyebrow could irk a stone.

After Ambassador Spock had turned up, they had all learned who their Spock _could_ become if less walled in, less intent on proving just how _goddamned_ Vulcan he was. Meeting his other, older, more self-realized self had softened his edges - but you’d only notice if you knew him. People might think Vulcans inexpressive, but they surely couldn’t have studied the micro-expressions they produced in detail. Spock’s face produced as full a range of expressions as any human’s did, they were just minute in comparison. Along the way, Bones had learned to read Spock’s face like an open book (though perhaps one in some foreign language he barely understood) - that lift of an eyebrow, the narrowing of his eyes, the twitch of his mouth, eyes darting slightly, speech speeding up or slowing, sometimes having to forcefully steady his breath. He knew the meaning of most of those, the suppressed emotion behind them. He simply chose to utilize that knowledge best when antagonizing the Commander.

However, these days he often saw something in Spock’s eyes that he couldn’t read _at all_. In the aftermath of their so-called 'adventure' together on Altamid, it had started appearing every now and then. Bones reckoned it was some sort of gratitude for saving his life - but then again, he didn’t figure Spock for one to linger on such things. It was also often directly followed by a lifted eyebrow and sometimes a drawn breath, like Spock was about to say something -  and then nothing. It left the Vulcan looking a little like a fish on land.

It unnerved McCoy - rattled his bones, so to speak.

***

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. Spock had walked into him in the hallway outside the crew’s temporary quarters on _Yorktown_. Doing a few, quick steps of the idiot waltz instead of sidestepping as easily as he should have been able to, Spock stopped dead right in front of Bones, and _floundered_ , seemingly gulping for air for a moment, before composing himself quickly.

“My god, man! Just spit it out, whatever it is you want to say to me,” Bones snapped.

Spock’s eyebrow lifted, his fascination with human colloquialisms apparent. He’d gotten better at them lately though, and didn’t comment on that particular wording. “I have nothing in particular to say,” he simply stated.

“Sure you don’t,” Bones huffed. “That’s why you keep making that very decent impression of a  mudcat whenever you see me.”

“I do not see why you would compare me to a _Pylodictis olivaris,_ as I am neither aquatic nor ichthyoid.” Spock’s brow furrowed, in apparent confusion, but Bones saw the glimmer of laughter hidden in the corners of his eyes. Spock _liked_ rubbing people the wrong way, no matter the whole 'no emotions'-thing he kept harping on about.

 _You’re certainly cold as a fish,_ Bones thought to himself before answering: ”You’re gaping like a fish on dry land.”

“I am not.” _Sure, that expression he got right away._

“You are. It’s exasperating.”

“ _You_ are exasperating, Doctor McCoy.”

How had they come to argue like little children? Bones rubbed his forehead and shook his head. “Dammit, Spock. When you find out what it is you want to tell me, come see me in my office. This...is unproductive.” He sidestepped Spock and headed for his borrowed offices at his new stomping grounds at the _Yorktown’s_ main medical wing.

***

Sitting back in his office chair, Bones considered his current position. The universe had really passed him the short end of the stick, leaving him more or less stranded in a glass bauble floating around in the great nothingness, ready to implode into little tiny shards made from metal and humans and aliens from the smallest crack in its shell. He could feel his breath quicken just from the thought - he really hated flying machines, and especially one he was on. He _had_ been offered a trip home in the interim before the new ship, the new _Enterprise,_ would be finished, but that only meant another journey on another ship, one he couldn’t trust the integrity of. _Yorktown_ had at least proved it could handle a few bangs and scrapes. He was better off here until Jim could take him back home someday, even though it was lonely. And cold. And in space.

Better not think about it. He shuddered - and decided to think some more about how unusually, annoyingly tight-lipped Spock was being lately instead.

***

Spock didn’t show up that day, nor the next. In fact Bones didn’t see him for another twelve days, _not_ that he counted.

The knock on his door was soft, but decisive, and Bones would have recognized that knock anywhere. “Open.” The door slid open, revealing Spock standing there, his hands folded behind his back. “C’mon in,” Bones waved. _Took you long enough._ “How may I help you?”

Spock ducked into the room, the door being just a hand's width too low. He walked over to Bones’ desk, standing just half a metre or so away from Bones. Looking down, he furrowed his brow. “Why am I not able to...stop thinking about...Altamid? What is wrong with me?”

Bones felt his brows arch, a perfect imitation of Spock’s oft-used expression. So that was it? Some sort of emotional response to the time on Krall’s planet? “You nearly died. Even you are susceptible to the aftereffects of trauma. I can refer you to a counse…”

“That is not is,” Spock interrupted. “I do not relive the trauma, nor does it pain me.” He seemed to move closer. “I simply remember and dream and _feel_. Too much, too often.”

Bones’ eyebrows furrowed. He rose and pushed Spock towards an examination room, urging him to sit on a biobed. Pulling out his medical tricorder he scanned the Vulcan, registering  elevated levels of norepinephrine, dopamine and phenylethylamine, amongst other neurochemicals. Spock’s temperature was normal though, and his heartrate elevated, but not by much. In a human… In a human, he’d call that particular neurochemical concoction _love_. In Spock… He didn’t know what to make of it. The Vulcan mind was a mystery after all, and Spock’s hybrid mind even more so.

He showed Spock the readings, reckoning that he might make more of them than Bones himself. “Your neurochemical levels are off, though other than that you seem fine. I’d say you are experiencing love, but is that even possible?” He had dated, _was dating?_ , Uhura, but what foundations their relationship was built on, he didnẗ know, he’d never asked. And why would remembering Altamid elicit such a response from Spock? It was all very strange.

“I see,” Spock simply stated. “And yes, it is possible. In fact, I had already come to the same conclusion.“

“So who’s the lucky...person...then?” Not exactly good bedside manners, but Bones found himself intrigued by the concept of a Vulcan in love.

“You.” Stated flatly, without a hint of any sarcasm or deceit, the single word knocked Bones onto his ass in the nearest chair.

“Well, I’ll be!” he breathed. Seriously, was that all he could muster of an answer? Yeah, apparently it was. He stared up at Spock sitting on the bed in front of him. Feeling as confused as wind in a wicker chair, he gaped stupidly. “Why?”

“It is highly illogical, on that I agree. I have meditated on my condition for the last 1.7 standard week, but it still confounds me.” Bones could barely make out a twitch at the corner of Spock’s mouth as he spoke, a small tell to the turmoil he must be experiencing. “You may choose to ignore what you have learned today if you wish.”

 _Self-sacrificing sonova...!_ Bones couldn't very well tell Spock that, so he leveled his voice, trying to come up with something intelligent to say. “As your physician, I can’t do that. It seems to be causing you some distress,” was as good as anything.

“Not exceedingly, I must simply decide on how to deal with this...anomaly. You may help me make that choice. I may be able to suppress these... _emotions_ …completely if that is something you would deem advisable.” The “ _Or..._ ” hung in the air between them.

_Cold as a fish, indeed..._

Still feeling extremely confused, Bones took a few seconds to gather his wits. “What about Lieutenant Uhura?” He suddenly remembered she had a place in this - whatever _this_ was, a total mess most likely - and wondered if Spock had considered that.

“Our paths seem to have diverged. I feel affection for her, but we seem to cause each other more distress than appropriate. We have talked, and will remain...friends.” The word seemed to almost pain Spock, not being one he threw around a whole lot, but Bones knew it was true. Spock had found friends amongst the _Enterprise-_ crew, whether he admitted to it or not. “She wishes us well, if it comes to that,” he continued, unfazed.

“You told her?” Damn, Vulcan’s really didn’t lie, not even by omission - often.

“It seemed the prudent choice.”

“Prudent, my ass! Let me tell you, that could have exploded in your face faster than green grass through a goose. You _really_ don’t get humans very well, do you?”

Spock simply stared at him. Yeah, that much was given.

“So…,” Bones continued, still trying to make head or tail of the situation. “Let’s summarize - You...are experiencing a neurochemical imbalance, manifesting as what? Attraction to me?”

“Affirmative.”

“And it started after Altamid?”

“Also affirmative.”

“And you’ve told your ex-girlfriend about it?”

“Affirmative.”

“And apart from the illogical nature of such...emotions, you are not further troubled by them? You’d leave it to me to decide what you are supposed to do with them?”

“Affirmative.”

Bones stared again, feeling oddly calm. “Oh,” was all he said. Sure, he’d been married to a woman once - but he appreciated beauty in many forms. Species across the galaxy presented with anything from one to several dozen genders, a factual reminder that the duality humanity often took for given were far from - and he’d found many a specimen attractive. However, this was _Spock_. It would take some time for him to register to Bones as a a sexual being at all. Well, a romantic one, in the least. He decided to perform a small experiment. Sluggishly he got up from the chair, walking the few steps back over to Spock again, getting all inside his personal bubble. He wanted to know if Spock’s attraction was simply an emotional one, or if it was sexual as well. He needed to know. “Bear with me,” he said, leaning in and dragging his lips across Spock’s. He’d seen Spock kiss before, though it had seemed somewhat impassive at the time - however, that might have been because of the audience. Spock was nothing if not reserved. Here there was no audience.

At first Spock didn’t react, but when Bones lifted his hand and placed the tips of his fingers against the line of Spock’s jaw, something gave. Spock’s hands were gripping at Bones' hips, pulling him closer. His mouth opened under Bones’, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He _felt_ Spock want him, and wanted back. Wanted almost too much, wanted to fill the void in his soul, to put a cork in the outlet of the inner voice that constantly screamed at him, told him he was going to die alone, crushed under the immensity of unending space. He _felt_ Spock’s barely controlled emotions roll over him, into him. So much for control and logic. Breaking away forcefully, he stepped back several meters. It was all too much. _Much too much_.

“My god, Spock…”    

“That was…,” Spock started, quickly being interrupted by Bones.

“Don’t you fucking say ‘fascinating’!”

“Informative,” Spock ended.

“And what did it inform you of?” Bones kept his distance, not daring to step closer. He could happily _drown_ in that, whatever _that_ was.

“ We seem to be...oddly...compatible. Something in you resonates in me, amplifying. I would like to research this further.” Spock pushed up from the bed, closing the distance between them in a moment.

Bones splayed his hand against Spock’s chest, keeping him at arm’s distance. “Hold your horses, hold your _goddamned_ horses.” He couldn’t think. He _needed_ to think. “What was that?”

“Telepathic resonance. I did not enter your mind, but somehow the outer edges of our selves overlap, at ease with each other - it felt more like empathy than telepathy. I know now where these emotions come from, where, when they started. In the cave on Altamid. When I was dying - our souls spoke and found a mirror in each other. Mine might have tried to find shelter in someone else as it sensed its body dying. As it reached out to you, we bonded.”

“Bonded? For good?” Of all the mumbo-jumbo Spock had sprouted, that was the one thing Bones had understood.

“The bond can be broken, if that is what you wish.” Bones imagined he saw something akin to sadness in the corners of Spock’s eyes at that.

“What does it mean? For now? If it is left as it is, I mean.” If Spock was hurt by the prospect of the bond being broken it had to mean something to him, and Bones didn’t want to hurt him if avoidable.

“Nothing that would affect you day to day. I have bonds with others; the Captain, Lieutenant Uhura, family. It simply means I would read you easier if I tried. However, I will never enter your mind unless wish for it.” Spock tried to move a bit closer, but Bones refused him.

“I’m not sure what to make of it all. Give me time.” He stepped backwards, halfway turning his back on Spock. He _desperately_ needed to think. “Come see me tomorrow. In my quarters.” He didn’t want it to seem like he rejected Spock, he just couldn’t bear looking at him while trying to calm his heart, which seemed to be trying to beat its way out from his chest.

“Tomorrow.” Spock pulled back, turned and walked away without another word.

***

 _Whattodowhattodowhattodo?_ Bones had been walking circles in his front room for the last forty-five minutes or so, wearing figurative tracks in the carpet. Spock would be over in less than thirty, and he still didn’t know up from down of the whole situation. He circled some more. And then some more. Then he paced back and forth trying to wear a different path in the carpet. He continued until his door buzzed. _Dammit…_

Frantic, he tried to place himself in a position that looked relaxed and totally casual. It didn’t work. He ended up standing in the middle of the room, stiff as a log. “C’mon in.”

The door whizzed open, letting Spock step inside. Bones felt more awkward than he’d had ever since he’d been a teenager home in Georgia. He scratched the back of his head, looking down at his feet. “Hi.” _Dumb._

Spock walked closer as the door closed, stopping in front of him. His boots entered Bones’ field of vision first. He forced himself to look up - he was too goddamned old to feel coy and tongue-tied. Spock’s eyes staring at him revealed close to nothing - as usual, but there was a slight narrowness to them that told of hesitation - a slight line between his eyes. He didn’t move to touch Bones at all, but there was potential in his stance, a wish to move, an almost vibrating quality to the air around him.

“Have you decided?” Spock asked, softly.

Bones swallowed. “No.” It was the truth. His mind was a mess, a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts. Spock felt right, but he didn’t deserve right. He wouldn’t have to feel alone, but he deserved to feel alone. He’d get some. With Spock. SPOCK. He’d always thought… A lot of things.

“How can I help you decide?” Nothing but honesty from Spock.

Bones considered it - and decided to go with the water-metaphors his minds had been feeding him lately. He’d become a leaf on a river, following the flow downstream, ending up wherever the water brought him. “Touch me,” he said, a knot in his throat muffling his words. Things might explode in his face, but hell, nothing ventured...

Spock’s fingertips against his cheek felt cool, verging on cold. A shiver ran down Bones’ spine, raising the hairs on his arms. _Lower core body temperature, skin temperature still not equalized by the ambient temperature in the room,_ his mind informed him, all medically. Screw it, he didn’t care about that right then. The chill was followed by the same rush of shared emotion as the previous day, but far from as unexpected this time around. The initial breaker soon settled into ripples, _comfortable_. The reverberation stilled to a mere echo. Easier to think that way.  

“Things start, things end, no-one knows when. C’est le premier pas qui coûte,” Bones said, more to himself than anything, and reached for Spock, grabbing his shirt and pulling him close. Brushing his lips against Spock’s, he wanted. Fuck the consequences.

“Does this mean you have decided on a course of actions?” Spock breathed against his lips.

“For now,” was the only answer Bones was capable of giving. It would have to do. His fingers unfurled from Spock’s shirt, moving to tug it free from his pants. Skin, he needed to touch skin. Cool, dry, Vulcan skin. His hands wandered, explored. He wondered for a moment how different their reactions would be, he knew external Vulcan physiology closely resembled human physiology, most major discrepancies were internal. Still, with their suppression of emotion, he wondered if that went as far as physical sensation or if they let himself feel that. His nails dragged across a nipple, and judging from the air sucked in between Spock’s teeth, he definitely felt that. Bones repeated the motion, putting more heart into it. He wanted to hear _that_ sound again.

Mirroring Bones’ actions, Spock’s hands pulled at Bones’ shirt, wrenching it free, and up over his head. Bones half expected Spock to fold it neatly and put it down somewhere, but he was pleasantly when it was discarded of in an instant, thrown into a corner and quickly forgotten about. He started backing away, towards his bedroom, hoping Spock would take the hint and follow. What he meant to do when there, he figure out then. Now he simply wanted more touching. A lot more of it, in fact...

Somehow they managed to step out of boots, socks, pants and underwear between rooms, leaving a messy trail along the way. Naked, they tumbled down on top of Bones’ bed, Bones landing on top of Spock. He sat up, straddling Spock's thighs - and took the time to study the body beneath him in ways he’d never done in a professional capacity. Sure, he’d touched, seen, prodded, stitched up and bandaged that same body several times before, but always with a clinical distance. No distance between them now. His palms and fingers were splayed flat against Spock’s torso, a spattering of black hair tickling his skin. Nipples like a human, which seemed to react to stimulation much the same as a human's would, so he leaned in and licked one, drawing tongue and teeth gently across it. Suddenly he found himself with Spock’s hand pressing against the back of his head, pushing him closer. He wouldn’t have it, he needed to explore on his own. Grabbing hold of Spock’s wrists, urging his hands to the side, pinning them down. Of course Spock was far stronger than him, but Bones figured he might obey him in this. The reaction had most likely been involuntarily anyway, as Spock had never touched him without express permission so far. “Stay,” Bones breathed, almost laughing.

Spock's fingers curled, but his arms stayed in place. Bones deliberately drew blunt nails down the inside of Spock’s wrists, down his underarms, drawing a shudder from Spock. Okay, Vulcans apparently had sensitive skin, if nothing else.

Sitting back up, he let his hands wander again, nails drawing intricate patterns, sometimes leaving small welts taking on a faint greenish tint. _Green-blooded hobgoblin indeed._

The next bit he’d always wondered about. He leaned closer again, running the pads of his fingers down the curve of Spock’s ear. Watching Spock’s eyelashes flutter and his breathing hitching almost imperceivable, he guessed his ears were at least as sensitive as a human’s. They were fascinating, to use Spock’s own ears, and he knew human interest in them confounded Vulcans everywhere. That’s what they got for looking like creatures from the pits of human fantasy. He’d certainly fantasize about them later on.

He moved his hands downward again, letting them skim across skin, down Spock’s neck, across his clavicular bones, across his torso, down his stomach, down. Settling them at Spock’s hip bones, he squirmed a bit further down Spock’s thighs, to get a better view.

Not too different from himself, he decided, apart from the greenish flush. He hadn’t studied Vulcan genitalia in detail, he had to admit, as generally the whole goddamned species confounded him. Deep down he had to admit he felt a bit relieved. If there had been any weird parts (a highly scientific term, he was sure) he might have balked. As it was, everything seemed normal enough. Except for the fact that it was Spock beneath him. Thinking too hard about that made his mind spin. He couldn’t have that.

“Touch me,” he said for a second time. “Stop me from overthinking.”

Spock grabbed his wrists, mirroring Bones’ earlier ministrations. His nails rubbed against thin skin, sending shivers up Bones’ arms and down his spine. He trembled, his eyes closing and his head tilting back. How could such a small touch make him feel that much?

Suddenly Spock sat up, plastering his torso against Bones’, one hand moving to press against the small of his back, the other still holding Bones’ wrist capture. A rough tongue painted patterns across Bones’ chest, while the hand at his back dropped lower, stroking between his legs, the pad of a finger teasing across his anus, causing the muscle to twitch in anticipation.

Was he ready to let Spock fuck him? Hell yeah. “Fuck me,” he thought, _at_ Spock, wanting to see if this _thing_ between them would let Spock pick up on that without actually having to _say_ it, because he wasn’t sure he could. To accentuate the nonverbal command he tilted his head forward again and tongued the tip of a pointed ear, sucking at it, a little less than gentle.

Spock growled - and before Bones registered what happened their positions had shifted and he found himself pinned to the bed beneath an - at least figuratively - wild eyed Vulcan.

“Do you want this?” Spock asked, a small tremble to his voice.

“Yes.” Bones’ answer was clear as day. Remembering something from medical training, he turned three different shades of pink, but reached inside the drawer in his bedside table. Retrieving a bottle of lube, he handed it to Spock. “Better use this.”

“Indeed.”

Being manhandled again, Bones found himself with his face pressed down into a pillow, ass in the air. Not exactly elegant, but practical. Cold, slick liquid were dribbled between his cheeks, slowly making its way downward until cool fingers scooped it up before it made a mess. The same fingers circled his entrance, pushing slowly, insistently past it, into him. Knuckle by knuckle, one of Spock’s long digits pushed in, before curling slightly, obviously aiming for Bones’ prostate, and succeeding in finding it. Bones’ toes curled, his fingers digging into the bedding beneath him. He needed more, blatantly wiggled his ass at Spock, willing him to give him more, more, more.

Another finger was added, then a third. It was enough, more than enough. Bones willed Spock to fuck him, fuck him hard, complete him. They needed to be connected, skin to skin.

Barebacking wouldn’t be a problem, as Bones knew both their medical histories, and the last physical hadn’t been that long ago. In addition, few diseases were contagious between their species. Bones’ felt almost empty when Spock’s fingers were extracted from his ass, but the blunt pressure that replaced it was what he wanted. As Spock pushed in, Bones pushed up, pushed back, forcing Spock to bury himself all the way, most likely earlier than intended.

It burned, but it felt right. Oh, so right. Bones could _sense_ Spock at the edges of his mind again, affection washing over him, and _feel_ Spock plastered to his back, cooling down his sweat-soaked, burning skin. He felt like he was drowning again, and this time it wasn’t something he’d want to stop. Burying his face in the mattress, he braced himself against it and pushed back, urging Spock to go deeper, faster, both physically and mentally.

Spock snaked an arm to his front, palming Bones’ cock, wrapping long, nimble fingers around him, stroking in time with his thrusts, rhythmic, drawn out, rock steady. It was too much, driving Bones into the mattress, until he felt like trying to crawl out of his skin, away from the onslaught of sparks, ripples, bolts of brilliant lights and sensations running along every nerve in his body. Angling his head awkwardly he tried looking over his shoulder, between strands of hair plastered to his forehead by sweat.

Tousled hair and eyes impossibly dark, Spock still managed to look composed. However, there was a narrowing to his eyes, a rigidity to his shoulders that radiated intense lust. His veneer was slowly cracking, like a dam about to give, about to release the flood. Remembering Spock’s reaction to nail scratching, Bones grabbed his wrist where he was supporting himself on the bed, digging his nails into tender skin on purpose, leaving dents, drawing blood.

Hissing between clenched teeth, Spock shuddered, and leaned over, teeth scraping along the line of Bones’ neck, biting down in time with a hard, decisive thrust.

Lightning struck Bones’ nerves, coiling down his spine and tightening, forcing it to arch sharply, before pooling in the pit of his stomach, exploding and pushing him off the edge, into a dark abyss. He might have black out for a few seconds, because it suddenly felt like he was coming to, white stars dancing at the edges of his consciousness.

Spock was still moving in him, moving along him, but there was an edge to his movements, a shortening of every thrust that spoke of him balancing a thin line, a wish to extend the time spent inside Bones, a wish to prolong pleasure - leaving it almost pain-tinged in the end. Over his shoulder, Bones saw Spock closed his eyes - for the first time. They seemed wrenched shut in concentration. Spock’s hands grabbed for his, entwining their fingers unceremoniously, nails and skin and bones and soul.

 _“Come for me, come in me,”_ Bones willed. Spock’s eyes flashed open again, all darkness and ocean deeps to drown in - yeah, taking the water-metaphors way too far there. But somehow it was true. They were bottomless. A shudder ran down the length of Spock’s torso, and his rhythm faltered. “ _Come,”_ Bones though again, unable to speak the words loudly. " _I want to feel you.”_

Somehow it must have translated to Spock, because the feeling of him at the edge of his mind shimmered, rippled, warm and comfortable - until it grew, surged, swelled and exploded, as Spock pushed hard into him one final time, filling him with his come, slumping across his back.

Spock was heavy, too heavy, but the cool skin against his own overheated, oversenziticed one felt good, so Bones didn’t protest the weight pressing down, not until it became too much, too hard to breath. He willed Spock to move, and slowly the Vulcan rolled off from him, onto his back. It gave Bones a chance to study him in more detail, and to realize that a rumpled Spock was hotter than he had imagined. Damn sexy space alien must be fucking with his head - and he didn’t even fucking care. Somehow he felt fixed, righted. Not alone. _Tethered._

This _thing_ between them was definitely something he could live with if this was what it would leave him feeling like. _If_ it was something Spock wanted to continue.

“I do,” came a whispered answer. Bones had forgotten the Spock was still touching him.  Damned touch-telepath! But he was starting to see some positives to it as well now.

“You better keep your hands to yourself when we’re working,” Bones laughed. “Don’t want you to realize I’m right all the time, I’d miss our arguments.”

“Of course, on duty distance is required.” Bones couldn’t miss the small grin in Spock’s face, for a Vulcan it was positively radiant.

“Don’t agree with me, you know how that makes me feel…”

***

As promised Spock never touched Bones like that while on duty. Instead he found a thousand other ways to aggravate him, to drive him mad, to turn him on…

_Goddamned pointy-eared space-incubus!_

At least he made for a decent space-PDF, keeping Bones’ head above water, and the good ship McCoy well tethered and safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Written to:  
> In This Moment - Adrenalize (Mr. Kane Remix)  
> Deathstars - Babylon (Underworld Lounge Remix)  
> Puscifer - Rev 22-20  
> Celldweller - Frozen


End file.
